Give Me A Reason
by PaleLittleGirl
Summary: HPLV Slash. He cannot deny Voldemort’s terrible beauty, or what it does to him. He cannot deny the strange erotic charge between them, or what it means. He cannot deny that he is a traitor... Warnings: Sexual Situations, Language.
1. Chapter 1

-1**Give Me A Reason **

"Even in death, our love will go on…" The Dark Lord smiled down at him, his crimson eyes gleaming. He reached down and cupped Harry's face in his hands.

He looked up at him, his knees digging into the soft brown earth. Voldemort's caress sent a shudder through him and he sighed. "Yes," he whispered, ignoring the cold wind that blew through the graveyard. "My Lord…"

The Dark Lord ran his fingers through his ebony hair and bent down to him.

His kiss was slow, lingering.

It wasn't love. It wasn't even like. It was some cruel mixture of hate, lust, and understanding. He wrapped his arms around Voldemort's waist and kissed him back as hard as he could, moaning, willing the other man to comprehend the swirling emotions inside of him. He was betraying the Order, Dumbledore, Sirius…himself.

He must be crazy, as he clutches at another man, a monster, as he lets waves of pleasure wash over him.

The mark on his arm stings as Voldemort's hand brushes it, extracting himself smoothly from his grasp. "Patience," he hisses with a smug smile.

God, how he wants to just fuck him, kill him, wipe that smile off his snake face…

"But you won't, Harry, will you…" The Dark Lord smirks. "At least, not that last bit."

He grits his teeth, wishing he was wrong. But he wasn't. He licks his lips nervously. He cannot deny Voldemort's terrible beauty, or what it does to him. He cannot deny the strange erotic charge between them, or what it means. He cannot deny that he is a traitor, and that he will probably die for it.

He cannot deny that he doesn't care, that all he wants now is for the Dark Lord to touch him again, even if that touch will hurt him.

"Come," Voldemort whispers, sensing him, holding out his arms. He could turn now, walk away, curse him…

Or he could accept the invitation, and the pleasures it will bring.

Not much of a choice, really.

* * *

The Dark Lord's embrace is cold, his skin his cold, but he doesn't care.

He tastes strange, like death.

He moans as Voldemort's teeth nip at his neck.

He bites his lip to keep from crying out, or worse, begging.

He will not beg, no matter what.

They kiss, and he drags his fingernails down The Dark Lord's back.

"Harder," he gasps.

Voldemort ignores this, looking smug as ever. He does not follow orders.

Harry moans, feeling as if every cell of his being is on fire. He bites his lip so hard he can taste blood.

The older man smiles and runs his tongue over the little red droplets. "Say please."

The Boy Who Lived shakes his head. He will not beg.

The Dark Lord holds his arms down, nails digging painfully in soft flesh, staring at him. "Say it."

"God-"

"_Say it." _

He cannot hold out any longer. "Please," he gasps out.

He hates himself, just as he hates the man on top of him, inside him.

But this does not stop him from screaming his name as the Dark Lord finally complies with his wishes.

* * *

He wonders if the Order will find out, and what they will do.

He wishes that he wasn't Harry Potter, that he was someone else.

He cannot remember when the dreams first started, but he blames them for his feelings and betrayal. He would sleep, and then _he_ would come, and touch him, kiss him, and he would cry out, wanton, flushed; and then he would be awake, exhausted and unsatisfied.

He reflects on this, naked under his black silk robe, lounging in the bed they shared. He is tired, but pleasantly so; his limbs feel like jelly and his eyes are hooded sleepily. The Dark Lord is gone, but he will return; Harry waits for him with excitement and fear.

He wants to be touched again, he wants Voldemort to be rough with him, hurt him, _punish _him.

He deserves to be punished.

He feels fingernails graze his cheek and his emerald eyes meet crimson.

Voldemort's lips touch his and he shivers. "Harry…"

He hates it when he says his name.

The Dark Lord brings his mouth to his ear, and whispers. "Concerning the Order…"

Harry shudders and runs his tongue over his teeth, feeling the older man's cold breath on his cheek. He remains motionless as Voldemort's words wash over him.

"You will return to them…"

He starts, moves away, heart pounding. "What?"

The man smiles gently, indulgently. "You will return to them, my child. They will be missing you." He runs his hand across Harry's face, caresses neck.

Harry swallows and shakes his head. "No, I can't…"

A thumb traces his lips lazily. "You will do as I say." There is a dangerous undercurrent to his words, and Harry sighs breathlessly.

He feels defeat creep over him and he buries himself into Voldemort's robes. "Do I have to?"

He winces at how needy he sounds, how young. He is almost seventeen; he shouldn't sound like a lost five year old.

He feels the Dark Lord's chest rumble as he chuckles. Words aren't necessary. He sniffs, inhale's Voldemort's strange, cool scent, wraps his arms around his waist.

"When do I leave?"

* * *

Their intimacy appalls him, but he cannot keep away.

It is strange to be back, even stranger that they believe his story. Sirius is just relieved he is back, and everyone else is angry that he left, but to happy he's safe to be harsh.

He wonders if Dumbledore suspects something, but he is confident that no one in their right mind would suspect the truth.

He feels Snape's eyes on him, and feels his suspicion. He catches a glimpse and smiles at him widely, and the older man hastily looks away.

Harry wonders if he is crazy, if he is mad.

He can still feel Voldemort's caress, his long fingers on his lips. He suddenly hates his friends, and wishes they would leave. They are wrong, they don't understand.

He can see the Dark Lord's shadow behind him, feel the moonlight on his back.

He wants to go to sleep, so he may dream.

He does not want the food Mrs. Weasley offers with a kind smile, does not want Sirius to lean toward him and pat him on the back, does not want to be in anyone's presence but his own.

His glasses are gone, and he does not feel Snape's discomfort at his blazing emerald eyes.

He is tall; he can look Sirius in the eye.

He does not know how beautiful he is, or how he has changed.

All he knows is that he is a traitor, and that he does not care.

End Chapter.

A/N- What do you think? Sorry about the short length. If more chapters are written, they will be longer, promise. Please Review!


	2. Uninvited

-1**A/N- Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It really encouraged me to write more of this story. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Chapter 2: Uninvited**

Their lips meet, and Harry forgets everything.

He forgets that he had come only to tell Voldemort it was over.

He forgets that he had once told Ginny he loved her and would never do anything to hurt her.

He forgets who he is.

All he knows is the man against him, kissing him, touching him…

He knows that with a few whispered words, he would be dead.

This is strangely exciting to him.

* * *

"They're planning a raid on Lucius Malfoy's manor in a few days…"

"Fascinating."

He grits his teeth angrily. "Don't you want to know all of this? Isn't this the whole reason I went back?"

The Dark Lord's fingers trace the muscles of his naked abdomen and this just makes him angrier. "I suppose it was, partly."

He breathing becomes erratic as Voldemort touches him. "Partly?" he gasps. He will not give in, not this time.

Cool lips graze his neck. "Of course, I knew about the raid already."

Harry shivers and his eyes widen. "W-What do you mean, you already knew?"

The Dark Lord shifts slightly in their bed, black silk sheets rustling. He smiles coldly. "Surely you don't think I trust you in the slightest, Harry."

He swallows. "I-"

"I sent you back as a sort of… test. You will be happy to know you passed with flying colors." He smirks and his hand goes even lower.

He wants to move away, to yell, to hit him, to curse him…

Instead he leans back and gasps, "I hate you."

The Dark Lord's thin lips curve into a smile. "No, you don't." He bends down and kisses him, and Harry forgets.

* * *

He wonders, as he creeps back into Grimmauld Place, smelling of sex and sweat, how Voldemort truly feels about him.

"_Surely you don't think I trust you in the slightest …" _

It was obvious there was some weird lust…_thing_ between them, some mind-blowing, back scratching, eye-gouging , marathon fucking thing between them.

He supposes that is very useful to the Dark Lord, that when he has grown tired of him he will be killed.

He supposes that he is a weapon, both for Dumbledore and for Voldemort; and doubly useful for the latter, as he is now a neutralized threat.

"And where, pray tell, have you been, Potter?"

He starts, turns around; Snape is staring at him from the couch in the main room. Cold onyx eyes meet emerald and Harry swallows nervously. "Nowhere." Mentally he winces. If he could have said anything to make himself sound guilty, he had just done it.

The Potions Master raises an eyebrow. "You will forgive me, Potter, if I do not accept that pitiful answer. Do I have to summon Black to speak with you?"

"No! No, I just… had to get some fresh air. Why the fuck do _you_ care, anyway?"

His eyes flash dangerously. "Language, Potter. You seem to forget you are the student and I am the teacher."

"It's vacation, you can't do anything to-"

Snape steps forward and grabs him by the front of his robes, dragging the younger man to him violently. "Do not think," he hisses, "Do not think for one moment that I am uncomfortable with the possibility of punishing you in ways that are of questionable legality, Potter."

Harry feels his warm breath tickle his face and he smiles. "I don't think you will, though," he replies with a smile. Snape's expression alters for a flicker of a moment, and he wonders if he's actually getting somewhere. "I bet you're under orders not to, aren't you?"

Severus sniffs. "Albus has not explicitly-"

Harry wrenches himself from the other man's grasp. "I wasn't talking about Professor Dumbledore."

They stare at each other for a moment, eyes blazing, and Harry realizes he has won.

Snape stares at him. "How would you know about that, Potter?"

He shrugs. "Just a hunch."

Snape continues to stare at him, an odd expression on his sallow face.

"Can I go now?"

* * *

When he lays his head on the smooth surface of his pillow, he thinks he is safe.

As he drifts off to sleep, he is relieved.

But when he dreams, _he _is there.

* * *

"Why can't you leave me alone?" he demands. He had to sneak out again, and he is nervous that Snape suspects.

But who in their right mind would suspect the truth?

The Dark Lord looks up from his book with a condescending smile. "I wasn't aware that you wished me to, Harry." He tongue rolls over his name smoothly, sinuously, and Harry's stomach flips.

"Don't…_don't _say my name like that! You know what I mean! Stop fucking invading my dreams! I'm here, aren't I? You don't need to-"

"Isn't that sweet… you _dream_ about me, Harry? How flattering."

He is speechless for a moment. "Don't play stupid! I can't sleep, I can't -"

Voldemort rises and holds out his arms innocently. "I have nothing to do with your dreams, Harry. Believe it or not, I have better things to do."

"You're lying. You've been invading my mind for months, don't-"

"Ah, I see. You blame your feelings for me on your dreams, which you think I orchestrated…A brilliant plan, I admit, but one I did not implement."

"You're lying."

The Dark Lord steps forward. "Am I?"

Harry's mind swirls as Voldemort caresses his neck. "Trust me, my boy," he whispers slowly into his ear. "You have no one to blame on our…_situation_ but yourself."

Harry shivers in his embrace, his body burning with uninvited desire, and he shakes his head. "You weren't surprised, when I came to you…"

Voldemort wraps his arms tightly around him, kissing him. "I was too pleased to be surprised. Now, enough of this." He throws him on the bed roughly.

Straddles him. "Take off your shirt."

End Chapter.

**A/N- Sorry for the short length. In the next chapter, their relationship is going to get a bit…rougher. And, of course, Harry will get more guilty. Please Review! **


	3. Possession

-1Possession 

They stare at each other, and Harry is lost.

"I never realized… You have flecks of green in your eyes…" he whispers, his words almost catching in his throat.

"Interesting. There are flecks of crimson in yours."

_You're a liar. _He wants to say this, angrily; but he is so pleasantly, deliciously tired. His eyes are hooded sleepily, his breathing is even. The silk sheets feel cool against his naked body, and long fingers run through his hair. Now is not the time to fight, again.

He always loses, anyway.

* * *

Aroused with desire, controlled by ecstasy, the boy is putty in his hands.

He could kill him.

But he won't.

He has never been one to deny himself, and Harry… the boy… is a delicacy, a precious bonbon, waiting to be devoured.

He is so delicious, so responsive, but he still fights, he still resists. But he, in the end, is unable to hold out; Voldemort wonders about this to himself after the boy leaves.

Why? Why can't Dumbledore's precious Saviour, hero to the whole wizarding world, resist the temptation of evil?

Why can't he resist his mortal enemy's touch?

Perhaps he wants something, something no one else can give him.

_He loves me. _

He smirks to himself at this thought.

_He wants me. _

_He has taken the Dark Mark, for me. _

_He is mine. _

_His blood runs through my veins. _

_My blood, my soul… _

_Mine. _

* * *

"Harry, Harry! Wake up!"

His eyes fly open, his heart beats, his throat is raw. It is dark in his room, but someone is shaking him; panic and something else runs through his veins.

"Sirius? What are you doing in here?"

His godfather smiles, relieved. "Harry. You were screaming in your sleep… I was-"

"What did I say? Did I say anything?" There is a strange edge to his voice as the details of his dream flood into his memory. His cheeks burn and sweat runs down his forehead.

"I couldn't quite catch anything you said… Why? What's wrong?"

"I…nothing. I'm just tired."

Sirius looks thoughtful as he turns away. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning, then…"

"Wait! Don't-"

_Don't leave me alone, with him. _

His godfather turns to him, grips his arm; fire runs through his veins and he gasps in pain.

"What? What's wrong?"

Harry flinches away from his fatherly touch, resisting the urge to massage the Mark. It burns, stings, branded into his skin, a reminder. A symbol.

"Nothing, nothing, just….ah… my scar. My scar hurt."

Even in the dark, he can see the worry. "Your scar… you know, I think you should continue your Occlumency lessons with Snivellus. I know you hated them, but perhaps it's best."

"Fine, fine." _Just get out of here. _

"I'll speak to Albus about it in the morning."

"Great. Sleep well."

"You too, Harry." He shuts the bedroom door quietly behind him, and Harry's heart sinks.

_Oh, Shit. _

* * *

"It's over. Done. I can't do this anymore, I…"

Voldemort smiles coldly. "It will be over when I say it's over… Harry."

He looks up at the older man, clenching his jaw in resolve. "No. It's over now."

He smirks and twiddles his wand in long fingers. "I think you need to respect your elders, child."

"I'm not a-"

"_Crucio." _The Dark Lord whispers the spell, quietly; almost lovingly.

White hot knives pierce every inch of his skin, and he does not even realize he is screaming in agony.

Voldemort flicks his wand lazily and the pain is gone, and he is panting on the floor, shocked. "What…what the fuck was that for?"

Another cold smile. "Such language, Harry. Such a foul mouth. Shall I do it again? Have you developed a taste for it?"

He shakes his head hurriedly, the coldness of the tile he lies on bringing him back to Earth. Or to hell. "No…no."

He rises gingerly, his body aching.

"I don't believe you."

He stares into crimson eyes, suddenly absorbed into their scarlet depths. "What?" he whispers, a million miles away.

_What is he doing to me?_

"I said I didn't believe you. Because you lied, didn't you. You have developed a taste, haven't you. A taste for danger, for…pain."

He shivers at the way Voldemort said the word 'pain'.

"No…"

The Dark Lord approaches him, and Harry is suddenly keenly aware of how close the bed is.

"Oh, really."

"Yes…" He licks his lips nervously. "Get away from me," he whispers, no conviction in his words.

He is suddenly on the bed, face pressed into the pillows, naked; he can feel Voldemort's smirk, though he can't see it.

Cold metal scrapes his skin and his heart skips a beat. "What are you doing?" He does not bother to disguise the panic in his voice.

His arms are raised above his head and he hears the unmistakable _'clink' _of the handcuffs.

_He handcuffed me to the bed. _

_He fucking handcuffed me to the bed! _

Odd, such a Muggle thing to do, wasn't it.

Hysterical laughter at this thought threatens to bubble to the surface when long fingernails run down his back.

He shudders, tugs at his bonds, squirms; but he cannot get free.

"You took the Mark for me, Harry. You are mine. Aren't you."

He hears the soft swish of a cloak and realizes that the Dark Lord is stripping. "No. No. I'm-"

Voldemort gets on the bed and licks his ear. "What was that?"

He feels cool, naked skin against his; he feels himself get aroused. He groans and tugs at the cuffs. "Nothing."

The Dark Lord licks a line down his spine and he almost screams. "I hate you," he spits out as the older man positions himself behind him.

"You love me."

He is speechless; and then Voldemort is _inside, _and this time he does scream, loud and long, and with each thrust he screams again and again, pain and pleasure combining unbearably, and he feels teeth bite his neck, cold hands running up and down his body, and he possessed and set free.

He meets each movement Voldemort makes, pressing himself even closer to his sinuous body. He is on fire, and nothing matters anymore. He throws back his head, gasps, grunts, groans. He is not human anymore, but something else entirely.

Cold breath kisses his neck. "You love me."

He tugs again at his bonds, and they dig viciously into his pale, unblemished skin. "Yes," he hisses.

Before he comes, before he blacks out, he hears the Dark Lord whisper slowly into his ear.

"You are mine."

**End Chapter. **


	4. Play the Game

-1**Play the Game **

He bites his neck, angrily; Voldemort's cool, slightly bitter taste fills his mouth. He twists and turns, knowing he will be punished for his behavior, but he does not care.

The Dark Lord grins savagely at this, barely feeling the pain as Harry writhes beneath him. Poor boy, he muses. He slaps The Boy Who Lived and the child gasps, either from arousal or pain, or a mixture of both.

Harry stares at the ceiling emptily, halting his useless struggles; he isn't fooling anyone but himself. He does not shiver as he feels the cool air of the bedroom on his naked skin. He wants this, he wants to be hit, hurt, punished. He wants to feel Voldemort inside him, hard and brutal, he wants to be bruised and marked.

He gasps again, as the Dark Lord kisses his neck in a cruel imitation of tenderness. His body is on fire, and he plays the game willingly.

He is used to it, and he always loses.

* * *

Harry smiles emptily in the darkness of his room, realizing he isn't sore. It is not because their 'relationship' has became gentler; if anything, it has became more animalistic, more rough. His body is covered in bruises and bite marks, tender to the touch; hiding them all will become a problem.

No, he isn't sore because he is _used_ to his new activities.

How…appalling.

He touches the Dark Mark on his arm slowly, easily making out the dark tattoo against his translucent white skin. He wonders what would happen if he touched it with his wand, if it would summon _him. _He strokes it gently, remembering all to well how it burned, how cool Voldemort's fingertips were on his branded skin.

His Occlumency lessons will begin soon, and then everything else will end.

He looks forward to this, cannot wait to see the expression of disgust on Snape's shocked face, the incomprehension in the black pools of his eyes.

He licks his lips, remembering how Voldemort tasted, wants more.

Snape will tell Dumbledore… and then what?

Will he be arrested? On what charges? Will his Headmaster be able to admit publicly what his Golden Boy had done?

Or, rather, _who_ he had done.

He smirks at this coldly, unaware of how much he resembles someone else.

* * *

Ginny chatters inanely, Ron and Hermione argue.

Another day at the breakfast table.

He rests his head on his hand, bored; he lets his mind wander.

Snape scrutinizes him curiously, does not understand what is so different about the boy.

Perhaps it is the way he has been carrying himself lately; his back is straighter, his emerald gaze more piercing, more critical.

He has seen glimpses, here and there, of purplish marks on his body; impossible to hide so many.

Perhaps he has taken a lover…?

The Weasley girl…?

He swiftly discards this train of thought, tells himself he does not care, ignores the unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Tries to forget Voldemort's orders of not laying a hand on the boy.

Was that it? Had he turned to the dark side?

Impossible, he decides. Voldemort wants him dead, comprehends the deeper meaning of the prophecy; there is no way he would keep the boy alive if he were in his possession.

Harry suddenly sniffs critically in response to something the girl says; drums his long fingernails impatiently on the wooden table, green eyes empty, devoid of all emotion.

Déjà vu suddenly washes over Snape, and he stares at the boy again.

Why on earth did he suddenly look so familiar?

* * *

Harry catches Snape gazing at him and glares back, gratified as the Potions Master hastily looks away.

Was he…_blushing_?

Yes, his cheeks were definitely taking on a pink tone.

He grins nastily to himself.

_Maybe he wants me. _

Wouldn't that be cute.

_I could fuck him, _he thinks to himself lazily. _I could fuck him and then torment him, torture him, make him desire me even more, and then crush him. _

He blinks, shocked. Since when did he think like that?

He stares at Snape angrily, willing the older man to look at him, suddenly full of hate.

_I could kill him, too, _he thinks.

_Look at me. LOOK AT ME! _

"Harry?"

He glances around; everyone but Snape is looking at him strangely. He feels his cheeks burn uncomfortably as he answers Dumbledore. "Yeah?"

Albus smiles gently at him. "What do you think, my boy? Are you willing?"

He shifts in his seat. "Sorry?"

"To continue your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape, Harry."

He grits his teeth and steals a glance at the Potions Master, who looks resolutely away. Bastard.

"I'd rather not," he replies smoothly. "They didn't exactly go well last time, did they?"

The Headmaster's eyes twinkled. "Severus and I have spoken, Harry; and Sirius agrees: it is in everyone's best interests, especially yours, if you work more at shielding your mind from Voldemort."

"Do I even have a choice?"

* * *

"And why should I care, exactly?"

Harry stares wildly at Voldemort, his heart sinking in his chest. "I'll be discovered," he whispers. "Snape will-"

"Snape won't do anything I don't tell him to do," The Dark Lord replies simply, straightening his robes. "Now, come to me." He holds out his arms, a feral gleam in his crimson eyes.

He ignores the familiar feeling that floods through him at Voldemort's words. "How can you be so sure of him? He'll tell Dumbledore, I know it!"

A shrug. "So?"

"_SO? _So I'll be thrown in fucking prison! Everyone in the Order will _know!"_

Voldemort's half lidded eyes travel over his body slowly, letting him know that his words meant close to nothing to him. "You will not be thrown in prison," he whispers. "You will come to me if Severus betrays his master."

Harry is dumbstruck by this.

"Or…" The Dark Lord's lips slowly upturn in a triumphant smirk. "You could figure out a way to convince Snape to keep quiet, couldn't you."

"What the f- how the hell am I supposed to do that? He's not exactly looking to me any favors, _my Lord." _

Another smile. "I'm sure you could think of some incentive for the man, Harry," he says, his eyes roving suggestively over the boy's body again, his smooth, cold voice full of meaning.

Harry's cheeks burn as he absorbs what Voldemort is telling him. "You must be joking," he says in a low voice, knowing the older man is not.

The Dark Lord sniffs indifferently. "You must learn to play the game, my boy, and make necessary choices. Now," he said harshly, "I believe there was another reason you came to me, Harry."

He nods, feeling shock numb his limbs as he crawls on the bed.

He removes his clothing with shaking fingers, slowly realizing he has no choice.

You've got to learn to play the game.

**End Chapter. **

**A/N- Next chapter- more fun. You know the drill, please review! Also, I like to listen to music when I write, you know, for the mood. I like dark. Example: Closer by Nine Inch Nails, Even in Death by Evenescence. Recently quite into Switchblade Symphony. So, if anyone has any song suggestions, I'm all ears! (Or eyes, I suppose.)**


End file.
